C. Box - Out of Range

Joe stepped close to Tassell, looked right at him. "Sheriff, we seem to have started off on the wrong foot, and I'm not sure why. But I'd rather work with you than against you. All I'm asking for is keys to the statehouse and truck."

Tassell didn't step back. "Bud Barnum was a legend among sheriffs in this state. He was old school, and I can't really call him a friend, but sheriffs tend to stick together."

Now Joe understood. "What happened with Barnum was his own doing," Joe said. "He can blame everyone else, but Barnum did himself in."

"That's not his version."

"I'm not surprised," Joe said.

"In his version, he doesn't blame everyone else. He blames you."

Barnum had cut a wide swath across northern Wyoming, Joe thought.

"I can't help that," Joe said.

"He says you get into the middle of things you should leave alone. That you press too damned hard into areas where things are best left to the professionals."

"Do you think that's why I'm here?" Joe asked.

"Aren't you?" Tassell asked back.

"I'm here to fill in during hunting season, and then I'm sure I'll be sent back home. I'm curious about Will, I admit that. It doesn't make sense to me that things were so bad that he took his own life."

That seemed to mollify Tassell slightly. He said, "Will may not have been all you seem to think he was, Joe."

Joe cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"Will started losing it over the past six months or so. Even before the wife took the kids and moved out on him. He was becoming a public embarrassment, and we don't like embarrassments here in Jackson."

"What do you mean?" Joe felt a coldness growing inside.

"He was arrested twice for driving drunk. That was after a half dozen warnings. He spent a night in my jail when he was so blitzed he couldn't even get out of his own truck. He was arrested again just a couple of weeks ago for threatening one of our local business leaders."

"Will?" Joe asked, incredulous.

"Will. I arrested him myself out at the ski resort, where he was having the argument. Bet you didn't know that?"

"No," Joe said, "I didn't know that." He doubted that Trey did either, or he would have told Joe.

"Will just kept getting worse. I could see it coming." Tassell gestured toward the room. "And so could anybody who knew him. He was in a death spiral and it was only a matter of time.

"The ME concluded that Will's death was suicide," Tassell said. "There's no doubt about it at all, if that's what you were thinking. He got drunk, ate dinner, and shot himself at his table. Simple as that. There was a photo of his family on the table, which was probably the last thing he looked at. His fingerprints were the only prints on the gun."

"Is it true that all he ate was meat that night?"

Tassell looked at Joe quizzically. "Where did you hear that?"

"Just a rumor."

"Yeah, it's true. He cooked himself up quite a bunch of meat that night. All of the frying pans were dirty, and there was meat still on his plate when he died. It smelled pretty good in there, actually. But so what?"

"I'm not sure," Joe said.

"It's not that unusual, is it?" Tassell asked. "Hell, I do it myself. I ask the wife about once a month for what we call 'the Meat Bucket' dinner. Steak, pork, elk sausages. Maybe a piece of bread. She doesn't like it-she's a health-freak type-but she cooks it up."

"There wasn't an autopsy?"

Tassell shook his head. "No need. The cause of death was clear-cut. We don't do autopsies in Teton County when the cause of death is obvious. We have to watch our budget too."

Of course-so you can afford diversity training workshops, Joe thought but didn't say. He wondered how many murders there had been on Sheriff Tassell's watch. Joe couldn't recall hearing of any recently in Teton County.

As if reading Joe's mind, Tassell went on, "We lose a couple of people a year here, but not because of crime. A tourist or two may drown in the whitewater, or a skier might crash into a tree, or a ski bum will overdose on a slick new designer drug. But just because we don't have major crime doesn't mean we're not trained to handle it. This is a tight little community, and there are important people here with lots of money and influence. They don't like things happening that take place in bad country and western songs, you know? Those things should be left to the rest of the state. And they don't like bad news, either, because this is their special playground."

Joe watched Tassell carefully. What exactly was he getting at?

"This place is special," Tassell said. "We've got the highest per capita income than any county in the U.S., because of all the millionaires and billionaires. There are people here who don't think they need to play by the rules.

And you know what," the sheriff said, arching his eyebrows, "they don't. They don't like a sloppy suicide happening in their town. Neither do I"

"I'm confused," Joe said.

Tassell looked away. "What's done is done. I don't want it dredged up again."

"You think I'm going to do that?"

"Maybe. That's what Barnum said you'd do."

Joe paused before responding. Tassell was obviously warning him off, but was it because there was something to hide or simply because a further inquiry would look bad and attract unwanted attention? Joe guessed the latter.

"Don't worry," Joe said. "It doesn't seem like you've got anything to fear from me."

"Let's hope not," Tassell said with finality. "Let's hope not."

Then he excused himself, saying, "I want another hit of that cheese."

"About those keys," Joe said.

"Come by the office around five," Tassell said. "We should be done with our workshop by then."

Joe watched as Randy Pope gave Susan Jensen a long hug. Joe thought Pope held the clench three beats too long, moving it into the category of inappropriate behavior. Susan didn't appear to be hugging back.

Finally, Pope said something sincere to her and took his leave. As he passed Joe, Pope looked up.

"On behalf of the department, right?" Joe said.

"Don't you have work to do?" Pope snapped, his face flushing pink.

Susan Jensen worked her way through a group of well-wishers and walked purposefully up to Joe and said, "May I have a few minutes, please?"

"Of course," he said, following her through the room and into the hallway.

"I need a drink," she told him, as if apologizing.

Joe didn't need one, but didn't say so. The lounge was at the end of the hall, and Susan looked inside before going in.

"All clear," she said. She took a seat on a stool at the empty bar and ordered a glass of white wine. Joe liked her, and had from their first meeting. She was ebullient, smart, and a little caustic. Like Marybeth, Susan Jensen was a go-getter.

"Just tonic for me," Joe said to the bartender, who was young, fit, and sunburned-the Jackson look.

"You're not drinking, that's good," Susan said.

"Not today, anyway."

She waited for the explanation.

"I had a couple of extras last night," he said.

"Will used to be reasonable like that," she said. "He'd have a few drinks and then he'd go for weeks without one. It wouldn't even occur to him. But then he changed."

"Susan, I'm sorry," Joe said.

"Everybody is," she said, sipping, an edge creeping into her voice. "Everybody in that room is very sorry. We never had so many friends in Jackson who thought so well of us."

Joe didn't know how to respond.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have said that. It's catty. A few people have shown the boys and me real kindness. Some anonymous person even paid for the costs of cremation, which helped us out a lot. Will's life insurance policy won't pay because of what happened. I have a new job, but still, I've got to think about the boys, how I'm going to pay for them to go to college."